The Dirty BeliefsA Poem by Satish VermaMore searing― in fog of love.
More searing―
in fog of love. You prepare the first draft― of suicide. It was not in your handwriting from the left, before sending― the message. The crash of the drone before hitting the ground. I apologize to sun for― the brilliant fault. I will never know what did I give you. My tulips were ravaged by the statecraft of the winds. © 2020 Satish Verma |
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